Builds 76 Fj40 Face Lift (1 Viewer)

[Chungas Revenge]

Albiet, Fred is a maestro when it comes to liner removal. He has not yet achieved the level of artistic vision necessary to teach mano a mono. That still requires considerable tutelage under my direct guidance and supervision. After all, I consider it my civic duty to the members of this astute forum to ensure Fred's capabilities are honed further within the crucible of the "76 Fj40 face lift" thread..

In that vein, I am considering taking on another "Student" in order to teach the art of the "Birf rebuild"...Think I should post a thread looking for candidates?

 

[Solace in Solitude]

I would hesitate to call in outers, unless you have your processes protected, under copyright.

What about River Lot Dave?

Do you have a Todd from 'cross the Holler? Or, a Coal Miner Carl?

It might be faster if you just list all your n'er do well friends?

 

[Chungas Revenge]

It might be faster if you just list all your n'er do well friends?

In due time Danny, in due time...

It is the fortunate man that can count an endless cast of "Characters" as his ne'r do well friends...Trying to work "Chuckster", "RJ", "Rainman", "Omar the tent maker" and "Elroy" into the "Face lift thread"...Rainman and I have been talking about some novel storage ideas for the TLC Fj40 ....More to follow a little later in the thread...

 

[Chungas Revenge]

It's the little things that make going to the mail box an adventure! Is that a Ted Kosinski quote?
Postman was good to me. Rubber feet for my jump seats, inner tranny boot and a rear step...Reckon that's a good morning. Rain soaked and cold this AM in the Appalachians...Hope this is not a prelude to a cantankerous weekend. Looked at the SOR offering for a tranny hump gasket... >60 sheckles is a bit much IMHO. May take a run down to "Industrial Rubber Inc" Saturday AM and have a look in the bargain bin for a suitable facsimile.

 

[Chungas Revenge]

Stuck around the old "salt mine" today so a co-worker could beat feet to a family function. Having no immediate kin to contend with this weekend, and no one claiming to be my long lost son from Singapore, I agreed to work a morning shift today. I've been waiting on an opportunity to work on some of the small items that need some attention. So, last weekend, I stashed a couple TLC parts under my seat in the event I found myself with some free time. I pulled the seat mounts and scraped bed-liner off them last weekend. Freshening them up today.

After a quick trip to the grocery store I headed out to pick up some sanding paper/primer/paint at the local parts store. Managed to sand and prime all but one of the mounts. Tall/driver side mount is currently in the lab undergoing a "dot 3" treatment. I did however, run into some of the "local wild life" in the parking lot.

I had just shut my door and fired up the FJC when from out of nowhere, a herd of young "Kankle-dons" came lumbering over to my truck. "Hey Shugga, need ya car washed" the larger of the "Stay-puft" juveniles asked. Apparently, the local chapter of "JR Miss Weight watchers" was sponsoring a field trip to Pizza Hut and the DNR had failed to post a warning..."No thanks ah, girls!?" I managed... "Ahh cCome on shugga it's only five doll-lazz" she crooned, and placed a ham size forearm on my window seal. I watched nervously as the remaining gaggle of pubescent "chunk-o-saurs" began to assemble in front of my Toyota, effectively cutting off any plans I had for a hasty retreat. Before I could back over the parking barrier and take my chances with the oncoming traffic, the wind shifted. I watched the young "biscuit cub" as her nostrils began to flare , searching greedily for the fresh sent. To late, little "miss grain fed" caught wind of my grocery bag lying exposed in the passenger seat and asked "You hav-en to a bahh-bba-kkuue", she said nodding at my groceries. "Ah no ah, well yeah, maybe latter" I replied shoving two rib-eyes deeper in the bag and rolling up the passenger window.

A thin sheen of perspiration began to glaze her cheeks and forehead as her stubby little fingers began to clench and unclench uncontrollably. She licked her lips unconsciously and peered unwaveringly through my window at a large bag of "Ruffles" sitting unprotected on the seat beside me.."Aye liiikkke bbbah-baa-kuuueee" she murmured slowly in a trance like state. I had seen this look before down at the Chinese buffet at lunch time. Sensing immediately that she was on the verge of a feeding frenzy and may, without provocation, come through the door at any second, I worked feverishly for a solution. Maybe a diversion? I could toss an empty pizza box out the window to throw her off the scent. "No" I reasoned, with her hunger induced reflexes poised to propel her like a masticating meat missile through my open window, I'd never pull it off. I quickly executed the one option I had remaining. Instinctively I reached for some cash. I pulled out a ten dollar bill from my wallet and pushed it toward the window...

She may have been on the verge of gnawing through my arm to get at my can of "Grillen beans" but, she was a card carrying member of the "X" chromosome club. Knowing a fresh ten spot would transfix her and render her virtually immobile (like turning a shark on it's back), I dangled the money out the window.
Immediately mesmerized by the new found "prey", she instantly stopped salivating and zeroed in on "Alexandr Hamilton". Rhythmically, I moved the money back and forth cautiously in front of her narrowing eyes, like a snake charmer on a hissing cobra.

"Thank you sweetheart, but I just washed the car myself. But, I would like to contribute ten dollars to your field trip". She may have looked like an Appalachian Umpa-Lumpa but she had the hand eye coordination of a striking pit bull. Snatching the money from my hand, she let loose a train whistle size squeal and yelled, "Hey Momma, I got ten dollas".........

Momma? Oh God no!!..How could I have forgotten!!?? The one singular cardinal rule of the black top car wash is, where there's a throng of little beef-a-rillos shaking down parts store customers, "momma(s)" are sure to be grazing nearby. I should have known by the smoking grill, battered coolers and the half dozen or so mini vans parked side by side in the corner of the parking lot that this little 200lb "Tader-Tot" had a mother!! . I had wandered into the kill zone. I must be loosing my edge.

I looked in my side view mirror just long enough to catch a glimpse of a bleach blonde, bipedal, moo-moo clad "Denzian of the drive through" lurch up from her reinforced reclining camp chair. Her sudden movement must have spooked the other "Hipp-a-mums" as they broke cover and began, one by one, stampeding toward me. Having momentum, and the laws of gravity on her side, the matriarch of this "Dunken Doughnut" fueled throng cleared the pack still carrying a 64 oz big gulp and dragging the remains of a partially eaten caribou carcass.

As the sun eclipsed through my windshield, the herd of little "Burger King Babies" cleared my front bumper and waddled over to see what all the commotion was over...This was my moment. As my training kicked in I quietly dropped the gear shift into drive. Stealthily I nudged the gas, and nonchalantly headed for the exit. Slipping onto the main road, I raised my hand and returned the furious waives and nodded, in mute recognition to the lumbering horde of "Wilda-babes", now ponderously making its way to the edge of the parking lot. "Momma", dropping the caribou carcass, raised a bear paw sized hand to her enormous jowl and yelled "ttthhhaaannkkk Yoouu Sirrrr"....

Sighing deeply at my close call, I patted the still cool steaks and nosed my FJC down the mountain and headed back to base...

Just not safe outside the wire anymore......

All these things are true and happened just the way I described it. Anyway, that's the way I remember it..

 

[Solace in Solitude]

You tell a mighty good story!!

 

[Chungas Revenge]

You tell a mighty good story!!

Thank you sir.. It's all in the "perspective"...

 

[Chungas Revenge]

Leaving the mountains this AM and headed over to my "Camp" to mow. I will be at the "garage" around 1PM today to sort through some of the smaller projects. Painter has me somewhat "dead in the water". I Hit my "smalls" with a good coat of gloss black last PM. I'll do a light sanding with some 1000/1200 later today and spray a final coat.

 

[Chungas Revenge]

Managed a few smaller projects today..Gas tank cover is in a "new suit of primer" and should be ready for a good sanding on Monday..

Good things happened today. I'll post up some commentary and pics in the AM..Did anyone notice the "ghost toe"? It was not in the shot when I snapped the photo! I've sent a copy to SETI hoping that I have captured definitive evidence of alien intelligence. Evidently he/it has evolved beyond the rudimentary five digits to a more reasonably managed "four".. Also, It's wearing sandals, must be from a desert like planet..
Mars? Panama City? Miami?

Well manicured species regardless..

 

[Chungas Revenge]

Few shots of "pre/post" heater removal..Scraped as much liner as possible, but really needed to remove heater and associated duct work. Liner removal is up close and personal in this area of the TLC.

 

[Chungas Revenge]

I was able to shoot the rear step with an initial coat of black. Stopping by the garage to shoot another coat of paint and tie up some loose ends. Headed back to the mountains a little later today. There's a grilled burger in my future!!

 

[Solace in Solitude]

Happy Memorial Day, Jeff!

 

[Chungas Revenge]

Thanks Danny...! Same to you!

 

[Chungas Revenge]

Prepped for a liberal "rust kill"...Driver foot-well has been patched at some earlier time. Lots of small areas that show up better once primed...

 

[Chungas Revenge]

Some of the smaller "minute" pinholes showing up after the 1st coat of primer...Primer added at this phase as a preservation/precautionary solution. I may not have time in the next couple of weeks to address what was "uncovered". Rather than letting it sit and develop a coating of flash rust I elected to go this route..

 

[murf]

chunga, I haven't laughed that hard in a while. Gawd, that's funny stuff. Keep it coming!

one of may favorite parts >


...with her hunger induced reflexes poised to propel her like a masticating meat missile through my open window...

 

[Chungas Revenge]

Inner tub's is in primer....(clouds part, ray of sun beams down, heavenly host sings).

But, I think I regret this entire face-lift procedure. Now bearing a fresh coat of primer the ole mule is beginning to show signs of vanity. Nothing worse than a vain mule....

I spent a respectable day at the "garage" today, ferreting out the last pockets of bed-liner and carrying on a running commentary with Fred. It was one of those compelling expositions. Social relevance, intangible spiritual significance, far more than our usual good nature(d) diatribe. I am sure it's the same with most of contributors to this Forum. We normally discuss Quantum Physics, Taoism, Reinheitsgebot, Transcendental Meditation or the finer points of Ionic Molecular Composition. Today would eclipse such idle and mundane "shop talk".

Having sat for the past half-hour, crossed legged in the drivers side floor pan, Fred groaned lowly and lifted his legs free of the cab. Having only spoken a simple "yeah" or "naw" to my unrelenting and well worn questions about "sub atomic particles, Fred groaned and stretched his hands above his head. I had nothing in my existential data base that would prepare me for his next question.

Without warning or preamble he asked, "You like girls?".....

A million exaggerated and unimaginable thoughts instantly fought for supremacy and equal space inside my malfunctioning cortex. But finding no firm footing, all logical notions went hissing out both ears instead. My reply was equally confounded by my inability to form a cognitive sentence. Was Fred, going to pull a "Jenner" on me? Had he, on some ill advised notion or long repressed desire, determined that the "Front side of 50", was a perfect stage in life to become a not so attractive aging woman?? "Drop Dead" may possess a certain Mountain State savoir-faire, but I was quite certain the devilishly good looks instilled on him by his creator would not translate well to a feminine persona..Besides the "Born to Raise Hell" Tattoo would be hideous in a strapless gown..

"Fred, listen I am not sure why you are going to have a s..."...Before I could finish my stumbling retort on this ill advised transformation , Fred shyly proclaimed "I do"...

"You do what?" was my puzzled reply. "I like girls" he remarked as a broad smile painted his face...Praise the lord, hallelujah pass me a rattle snake I got the spirit....The thought of Fred clad in "one of them li'l black numbers", coyly sauntering up to the bar down at the "Come on Inn", or sashaying into "Mary B's dinner in a pair of Daisey Duke's, sent a revolting mental picture of epic discomfort to my temporal lobe. Some things "you just cant un-see"...

Knowing now that Fred had not slipped off the X chromosome reservation, gave me a new found sense of speech..Laughing nervously I questioned Fred regarding his revelation for the opposite sex, "That's great Fred, what do you like about women"?.....

"Boobs" was his singular confession...

As I blew a steady stream of tepid blue Gator Aide out of my nostrils, hacking and unable to catch a solid breath, I stumbled around to the bed of his truck. "What's the madder, don't you like boobs"? Still hacking and coughing I managed a "Yeah, I (cough) like boobs" (cough) (cough) (hack)..Without waiting to see if I would need resuscitation, Fred revealed the "real intent" of his initial question . I figgered you musta liked boobs, ..Yuz murried wernt cha? he inquired sheepishly. I figgered you musta, see-enz how yuz murried and all. Did you like bein murried, I aint never been murried", He continued unabated. "Ah, well yeah, yeah I guess so, but we were talking about boobs, lets talk about boobs" I stammered. "Say Fred, did you know that in order to clarify the foundations of mathematics, the fields of mathematical logic and set theory were developed".

No use, he would have none of our light-hearted discussion on set theory.

Pavlovian conditioning? Boobs? Well at least I didn't salivate that much.

Premeditated or not, Fred had committed a long standing, loudly mandated, often decreed, Commandment of "Chunga's Garage".

Chunga's Garage etiquette states:

Commandment number 1. "Unless fully imbibed of the Branch Water, Thou shall not bring forth the name of the one who shall remain nameless"

Commandment number 2. The penalty for such careless blasphemy will be grounds for excommunication from the "mini fridge".

Unable to locate the hidden mason jar Fred had obviously been hitting without my knowledge I blurted, "What's that got ta' do with your sex change".."My what?" he mumbled as he scratched his head. ..."Oh never mind Fred. Why are you asking about the"former"?

As I had in the past, emboldened by a round er' two, I lectured Fred that the "former",was known to be a lesser Imp or Elfish Demon, sent straight by some unholy under-lord to my door as eternal restitution for questionable "Acts of Youth" , Wanton Enjoyment, and Willfully Impersonating an Astronaut in the FT Rucker O club..I repeated that the mere mention of her name could cause a cow to go dry, your hen to quit laying and cause a WV State Trooper to spontaneously show up at your front door. "Is that cause of that "Strain'en Order?" Fred queried. "No, no no. That was all a misunderstanding". I quickly added.."My dog (Fergus), walked the thirty or so miles out to the farm all on his own". Obviously, an unprecedented feet of canine directional echo location....Must'a scented me..!!??

Having, at some time in my youth, fancied myself a torch bearing, ego clad testosterone warrior. I had plied my trade skillfully and blithely through an array of young impressionable cherub faced young WV debutantes (WV-Debs). Nary was the moment when I was not honing my skill down at the "Stage Door", perfecting my "pitch" over at "Ollies" or cultivating my approach at "Bits n' Pieces". A five year tour in the Marine Corps opened up a whole new vista for my burgeoning "art"..I'd gone global...Australia, Singapore, Tasmania, Hawaii etc etc etc.

"Much obliged" chimed the weasel as he spun the keys to the hen house...

Then as it should come to pass and I slowly approached the wizened old age of thirty, I determined, "I've grown weary of the chase". No longer did the perfumed neck of Aphrodite appease me. I think I need a wife, I reasoned. Not just any woman will do. Can't be "artsy", to flighty. Can't be reserved, to demure. Can't be cultivated, to boring. Can't be liberal, to crazy!! Can't be idealistic, to abstract..I know what I need!! I need a "Smart Girl". A girl who can match my self appointed measure of importance, a girl who can test my intellect and stimulate my own sense of relevance. Yeah, I need a smart girl..

Lilith, or the former "Mrs Chunga" (I have to use an antonym here, some trivial part of our "agreement" about suing me if I ever "uttered her name out loud"), was a Summa Cum Laude graduate of Duquesne University Law School. Brilliant intellect, detached, cold dead eyes, unrelenting, merciless when going in for the kill. Instincts of an enraged Raptor. A python in a pant suit. A soulless hanger of the shingle (you can see the attraction). She possessed the uncanny ability to rationalize any argument, no matter how trivial, to her advantage. Life lesson number 1. "Never marry a woman who is "Trained" to argue. She was smart...!

"Wuzn't yer Ex wife a lawyer? Fred's question brought me back from the abyss. "Yeah Fred, she was a lawyer" I offered, as the curious cork screw sensation that had wound its way around my spine began to subside. "Didn't she deevorcce you and take most everything you owned" Fred asked as a Cheshire cat like grin spread across his face. Ole' Fredareeno semi stifled a belly laugh as he fumbled with a gasket scrapper and feigned interest in the gas tank cover.

Shaking a can of self etching primer, I muttered something about Karma and said "Yeah Fred, she did" I acknowledged.

"Sounds like she wuz purdy smart" was his less than innocent quip....

"Hey Fred you like biscuits"?....
"Yep"

"What kind"?
"Round uns"

"No, seriously how do you like your biscuits"?
"Hot"

Well at least we were back on a cerebral conversation..In just a short time we were discussing "Eucledian Geometry" and the collected works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

All these things are true and happened just the way I described it. Anyway, that's the way I remember it..

 

[Chungas Revenge]

Last of the seat mounts came out of the lab yesterday after undergoing a "dot 3" treatment. Old liner peeled off faster than a snickers wrapper at a Jenny Craig Solon. Notably where my special proprietary blend of secret ingredients came into sustained contact with the bed liner. I have some down time here in the hinterland this week so I'll do some sanding/priming/painting later on Wednesday.

The Ghost toe showed back up in one of my photo's. Took the photo over to the head research scientist at the Kingwood Paranormal Investigative Center for an opinion. This is a clandestine organization currently operating out of the Garden Center at the local Tractor Supply. The lead researcher, who asked that I not disclose his name for fear of loosing his day job, thought perhaps it was the restless spirit of a former storage building client who had lost a "pinky toe" while working on a lawn mower or other such grass cutting device. He suggested, that for a nominal service fee of $20 and a bucket of original KFC, I could hire him to "exorcise" the spirit from my garage. I guess twenty bucks to watch a fat man do jumping jacks in the garage would be kinda fun to watch.....

I on the other hand, agree with his partner and assistant manager of the "Feed section", that this is a sentient inter-dimensional being of vastly superior intelligence popping over to our side to keep track of my progress on the mule...Yep, I think Ms Puppy chow hit the nail on the head. Ole four toes must be a Geeenuos, Jennyous, Geanuous, purdy smart!!

I'll post up more from the weekends effort a little later...

 

[Chungas Revenge]

Removed heater and heater duct in order to finish off the bed-liner. Other than some dirt and insects of an unknown origin nesting inside the heater housing, no surprises. Core looks good from the outside. No visible signs of imminent malfunctions. But, I still need to flush it to be sure. Everything worked prior to dis-assembly. Of course it was dirty and will need cleaned and painted(?) as a minimum. Gaskets all need replaced. I may spring for a gasket kit. That's a project for later. To many things going on. I want to stay on track and not have too many things disassembled. Hoping the painter will rediscover a sense of commitment and finish painting the shroud, rad support, hood and fenders. For ease of accessibility, I am thinking I can just bolt the shroud and rad support up without adding the hood and fender(s) in order to initiate start up procedures. No pics of the defrost ducts but, the ends are split. Not beyond repair but marginal. I have seen some "novel" approaches to replacing he ducts here on MUD. Not sure which direction I'll go in just yet. Hoping to squeeze a few more years of life from my originals.

 

[Chungas Revenge]

Having nothing to do yesterday afternoon I decided it would be a good chance to clean up my recently removed heater and blower assembly. Before tackling this mundane job, I stopped off at a local eatery for a quick lunch before venturing "up town" to the auto parts store.

"You want gravy with them fries"?... I stared back in disbelief at the "head band" adorned waitress who was energetically subjugating a stick of Juicy Fruit. She diligently searched for, and eventually found, some unseen affliction that had taken root under her "Hank Jr" Bandana. Scratching profusely, she removed an ink pen from from behind her right ear and tapped impatiently at the hand written name tag pinned to her sleeveless shirt. "Burt" rolled her "sugar free quid" over and over again between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. Her protruding front teeth snapped the gum with each rotation making a small popping noise on the down stroke. Growing irritable, she stared back at me as if I had wandered into her lunch shift at the "Heldreth Restaurant" from some other dimension. "Gravy! do you want Gravy with those fries" she asked again, this time rolling her eyes as if I would be able to see the "answer" engraved on the inside of her double lidded eyes. ...Thinking this must be a hidden camera episode of some demented version of "Hells Corner Cafe, I could only mutter "Gravy" as I searched for the camera crew. "Yeah g-r-a-v-v-e-y, gravy" she said as if to an imbecilic child. "Sir, the gravy's free with any order of french fries. I can bring it out in a tub if you want it on the side"...Tub? Gravy? French Fries? Hmmm. Apparently, gravy had made the leap from a holiday staple to a full fledged lunchtime condiment.

Sensing there was some sort of culinary high drama playing out at my table, the other dozen or so patrons all stopped their lunchtime routines to turn and stare blankly at the simple minded neophyte that had just wandered in off the gravy boat.

A small semi toothless boy, wearing a Jack Daniels baseball cap and a "I shot Barney" T-shirt, looked on in open mouth wonderment. Bare-handed, the lilliputian Dino-slayer reached for a limp "buckwheat cake". Shoving a handful into his open gob, he gnawed the defenseless cake into gummy submission. My waitress, realizing that I must be from "Tucker County or Ohio", twirled around in a huff and disappeared behind the dinning room counter. The pancake munching midget suddenly sensed that something unique and priceless was spontaneously generating in his left nostril. Methodically, he began to explore his brain cavity with a two knuckled foray that deepened with each repetitive thrust.

Fearing the exploratory mining going on at the next table may produce a sizable piece of brain matter or worse, I attempted to distract the manual drilling operation by smiling at the young prospector. Just as the diminutive "Lost Dutchman" was extracting a nugget size blob of biological gold, his mother, through a telepathic link with the diminutive dredger, swung a catchers mitt size hand in a downward arch and connected with the pint sized urchin in mid probe. The sudden impact drove his skinny pancake encrusted finger deeper into his snout, temporarily crossing his eyes and causing a slight twitch in his lower left leg .."Turn around and eat your lunch Peanut, a-for I beat choo silly" ..Nodding my approval to the Preston Co mother of the year candidate. I shot a cautious eye at Peanut who was nursing a bruised ego and a minor concussion.

Apparently the corporal punishment handed out by "Mother Nut", broke the catatonic gawking that had previously held the lunchtime regulars spellbound. One by one they reluctantly returned to their lunch plate specials, discounting the strange man with the aversion to gravy. I reasoned that it would be a considerable time before Pea-nut regained his senses and realized his index finger was permanently skewered in his nose, I safely surveyed my surroundings. Seated in front of me was an elderly couple who had remained silent during my interchange with "Burt" and "Pea-nut". They acknowledged my friendly waive with a voiceless nod and returned to staring mutely at each other. Contently married no doubt...

To my immediate right, noisily slurping at a bowl of the "soup special" was a very large, well grizzled, gentleman sporting a faded yet legible "Rita Forever" tattoo on his left arm. With each succulent spoonful of the mystery soup, "Rita's walking billboard" would suck his spoon dry and make a peculiar clicking noise with the roof of his mouth. Two tables to my left I caught the raucous laughter of a group of local woman all gaffing uproariously over some shared tidbit of local gossip. They howled loudly and gyrated their ample hips back and forth on the red and white checked vinyl cover seats. Pointing beefy fingers at each other, they took turns cackling between long slurps of over-sweetened ice tea. . No doubt this was the preferred grazing spot for this bevy of "4H pinup girls" . I quickly searched for the fire extinguisher and calculated the distance from my table . In the event of a friction fire or spontaneous combustion, I wanted first dibs on the Co2.

"Burt", burst out of the kitchen with a food laden tray and made a beeline for my table. "Coke, burger with mustard, pickle and onion and a large fry" she recited, sitting my food down in front of me. "Oh and here's your gravy". Removing a tureen sized container from her tray, she place the greyish quivering mass in front of me and turned to leave. The still rippling coagulated lump of rendered fat had the consistency of day old jello.

Knowing a single bite of this congealed "tader topping" would more than likely cause a massive aneurism, I looked for a place to stow the liquid lard. I could possibly hide the quart of "heart attack lube" under the table. Who would know? Besides, I would be long gone before Burt was the wiser. As I picked up the bowl and lifted the table cloth a low frequency "Haruummpph" stopped me mid stash. "You looking for something sweetie?" Burt asked puzzled over my hide and seek attempt with the french fry dressing. Ah, er, ah no. no not at all. I was trying to cool it off before I tried it. Looks real good though" I mumbled returning the quart sized container back to the table. Shooting me a "City folks are crazy" look, she slapped my lunch ticket on the table and went to check on the "Chatty" geriatric couple.

That's when I heard the voice.."Ppppeeeaa-nnuuuttttt" came the trumpet like squeal from the entrance. "Weeeeeee" came the return call. Pea-nut disengaged a knuckle from his extended nostril and raced toward the entrance door. Excited shrieks, unintelligible words and a mixed cacophony of childish laughter erupted as I turned toward the pandemonium. "Little nut" and a Jr Miss heavy weight, clad in pink leotard and a purple tutu, spun in concentric circles just behind the table of the "Club Pachyderm" regulars. Recognizing the spinning "hush puppy" and her dwarfish "finger mole", the Golden girls called out in unison "Heeyy Weee".
"Loooky Momma it's Peeaa-Nut" shouted the spinning spandex clad ballerina . Momma? Sausage shaped youngster, Nah couldn't be. Could it?

Before I could ID the co-star of the "Booger Ballet", I heard the floor groan loudly in protest as a cottage cheese dimpled, pale skinned knee pushed down heavily on the creaking floor. "Momma" rounded the sill and pushed her "double hug and mark" hips through door..... "Riitttaaa" came another round of greetings from the "Corps de' Calorie Quartet". "Rita", I reasoned, must be the "Forever" inked on object of affection belonging to the soup slurper and progenitor of baby Tumbellina.

Kingwood WV, is a small community, my close encounter of the third kind last week with the "Dumpling Gang" had nearly faded into a blurry memory. Now just a few short days later, I once again found myself sizing up the life size "pudd'en pop" who had confronted me in the Auto Zone parking lot. This unexpected second rendezvous, had once again caught me unaware, unprepared and vulnerable. I needed refresher training.

Would it be possible to wolf down the burger and make my exit unnoticed? I scrunched down in the vinyl seat as far as I could. Silently I prayed that my slow calculated slouch would go unnoticed and not draw the attention of Miss "Wee" and "Momma". Pulling my hat down as far as I could I started shoving food toward my face with both hands. I bit off a shark size bite of the burger and stuffed a handful of french fries into the hollow pockets of my cheeks. Taking a long pull on the fountain coke, my face swelled to chipmunk like proportions. Fearing a foamy breech I tilted my head and downed the un-chewed mouthful. Not stopping to wipe the mustard from my face, I repeated the process.

I felt her presence before she spoke.....
"Hey shug-ga ain't choo the the man that gave me ten dolla's at the caah wash on Sat-eh-day?" Unable to speak, I turned to face my portly inquisitor. I pushed back a long sliver of onion into my over stuffed mouth and tried to swallow. Unable, I searched for the coke. A long drought of the acidic liquid barley eased the discomfort of the hard swallow. Standing before me in all her pink and purple majestic finery was Miss "Wee". "Hi, my names Wee. Well my real name is Tamyia but I go by Wee. Thats coz when Iz a baby, my daddy called me Wee-wun What's yer daddy call you? This is my couzin' Pea-nut. His real names Gerald but we call him Pea-nut on a'count of he had a funny head when he'z a baby, ain't that right peanut?

"Yeah" replied Pea-nut and stuck out a small syrup covered hand. The same hand that had perpetrated and executed the most prodigiously accomplished nasal exploration I had ever witnessed. Pea-nut may have the table manners of a baby orangutang but he was well versed in the social greeting department. "Ahh, hello pea-nut" I responded . Ignoring his sticky digits I reached out and ruffled his close cropped hair. Having fulfilled his social obligation and needing a sugar fix, Pea-nut dropped his "five digit excavator", turned and headed back to his syrup laden stack of sugary goodness..

The purple tufted show girl, produced a small coffee can stuffed with one dollar bills and informed me that "Me and Momma been out to the Wahl-Maht. We wuz collecten' munny for a dahnce rha-sigh-tahl. We gonna do "Coppelia", that's my Momma's fav-or-itte ballet. My Momma was a ballerina. Did you know my Momma' wuz a ballerina? My Momma owns the Dance stoody-oh too. Seez my daddy reminds her of "Franz", that's a fella' in the ballet. You know who Franz is? You ever been to a ballet ? I been to the ballet over in Morgantown. You been to Morgantown? That's where the college is. You ever been to college? I collected thirty five dollah's t'day over at the Wahl-Maht! Say shugga why ain't you chewin your food"??!!


Extricating myself from this intrepid interview was going to take special skills, a quick wit and impeccable timing. I summed up my situation. I was on foot, I had a mouthful of uneaten lunch and I had not paid the bill. There was only one recourse in this situation, cash! Putting a finger to my pursed lips I gave the universal sign for silence. Surely this would work a second time, wouldn't it?. Reaching for my wallet I fumbled for the contents...thirty dollars. If I was going to make it to the exit, I would have to go big and go fast. I placed the "Ten" on tab and quickly stuffed the remaining "Twenty" into the dance recital treasure chest. In one deft move I scarfed up the half eaten burger and made for the parking lot. Side stepping the burrowing buckwheat eater I passed the table of the "burrito breakfast club" in full stride.

At the sight of the fresh "twenty" going into the "kitty", the pink and purple clad "Little Debbie Darling" let loose a long bellowing bray that reverberated throughout the dinning area. "Momma, ah' got a twenty dollah' bill" she wailed, and began to dance around in looping circle waiving the helpless "Jackson" above her pigtailed head.

Before the clamor crested to a fervor pitch I had made the front stoop. Spotting my ride parked next to a idling delivery truck, I popped the door opener. Bounding down the steps I hit the pavement at full gallop. Tossing my uneaten lunch on the passenger side I swung my legs into the driver seat. From behind me I heard a familiar baritone brontosaur blast as "Momma" loudly yelled from the doorway, "Thhaannnkkk yyyooouuu siiirrrrrrr, but you forgot your grrraaavvyyy".

I closed the door and bumped the key on the FJC. As it roared to life I cut the wheel hard and headed out of the lot.....Now free of the confines of the parking area I wonder out loud if "Hardee's would be crowded"?

All these things are true and happened just the way I described it. Anyway, that's the way I remember it..